There are seven
different consistency levels in clays and plastic silts, beginning with
Very Soft ("Can be easily grooved with knife or fingernail;
core breaks with light manual pressure"), progressing all the
way up to Extremely Hard ("Can't be scratched with knife; can
only be chipped with repeated hammer blows"). Rock weathering
levels range from Fresh ("No discolorization; not oxidized")
to Decomposed ("Rock decomposed; resembles soil").

Don't even get me STARTED on
drive cylinder density samples. We'll be here all night.

This week, I have been given an
exciting new job assignment at The Dirt Company, and it's pretty much
all I can think about at the moment. Effective immediately, I will be
responsible for inputting and processing Boring Logs for the Geotechnical Department. Mainly this will consist of me creating
incredibly complex, minutely-detailed reports on the composition of
soil samples, from the topsoil level down to wherever the bodies are
buried. These samples have been meticulously 'bored' from the ground:
hence the name. I spent most of today training on the incredibly
complex, minutely-detailed new software. I'll be training again
tomorrow. It's clear that I will soon know more about dirt -- and about
the difference between coarse- and fine-grained soils, and about
organic and inorganic silts, and about gravels and seepage and 8"
Diameter Hollow-Stem Auger drilling methods -- than I ever thought
possible.

It is also clear that Boring
Logs are aptly named.

But what can I tell you? A job
assignment is a job assignment. I like learning new things. I enjoy a
challenge. I appreciate the confidence that my employer is showing in
me. If my nice boss tells me to sit in front of my computer and type
teeny-tiny numbers into a coma-inducing software program all day ...
then, by god, I will sit in front of my computer and type teeny-tiny
numbers into a coma-inducing software program all day.

And I will do it with a big,
happy, moderately cemented/fine-to-medium-grained SMILE on my face.

Still, I can't help but
wonder how I get myself into these things in the first place. How in
the world did I end up working for a DIRT COMPANY,
anyway?! That wasn't my plan when I left the Totem Pole Company last
fall. I was going to actually go out and find a more interesting
place to work ... remember? It wasn't even the job itself that had to
be interesting. I would happily lick ashtrays and change fax toner
cartridges -- every day -- as long as the industry, product or service 1.) is
something I am passionately interested in, and 2.) does not involve
aluminum, tuna labels, traffic engineering, carpet cleaning, real
estate, fitness centers, elevator music, circulation billing or "sports
knives."

Publishing, for instance. Or
greeting card design. Or alphabetizing 45's at the radio station. Or
QA/QC at the Honey BBQ Wings factory.

Of course, this is the exact
same thing I promise myself every time I'm job-hunting. Whenever one
job ends -- whether it ends voluntarily or not-voluntarily -- whether I
leave with a *Farewell Party* or with a summons -- I always vow to take
my time job-hunting. 'This time,' I tell myself, 'I'm
going to *shop* more carefully for a job that better fits my abilities
and interests! This time, I'm not going to jump at the first
opportunity that presents itself! This time, I'm going to be
pickypickypicky!

And then the next thing I
know, I'm answering phones at a knife factory. Or typing up
bazillion-page voicemail messages all about Offset Barrier Type-Y
Crossings With Signalized Crosswalk Indicators.

Or categorizing dirt by color.

But that's the way it goes.
After all, if I could actually afford to take my time and 'shop' for
the perfect new job, in the perfect industry, I wouldn't need to WORK
in the first place. I could sit around the apartment in my bathrobe all
day ... surfing the Internet, writing greeting card jingles,
alphabetizing David's record collection and product-testing KFC until I
explode.

Instead of becoming the world's
foremost authority on knives and dirt.